


More Than Kisses, Letters Mingle Souls

by QueenoftheHobbits



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 11:18:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14976053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheHobbits/pseuds/QueenoftheHobbits
Summary: Requested by anon:  Could you write something about the reader, Tommy (from Dunkirk)'s girlfriend, writing him every day while he's off at war until one day, the letters stop coming and she fears the worst but he really has come to surprise her? Thank you so much!!





	More Than Kisses, Letters Mingle Souls

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Title Quote from John Donne, can also be found on my tumblr imaginesofeveryfandom

Thanks to the Royal Engineers letters are rather quick to be sent and to be received, while not necessarily a next day delivery, it was certainly first class, and you found that if on a Monday you sent Tommy a letter, that on the Monday afterwards you received one back. It was so regular, so recurring that it brought you great comfort. Each letter was a reminder that he was still okay, that he could still pen a letter in his familiar messy scrawl. It was a reminder that he was still able to come home. You’d known many people who wrote letters to loved ones in France or Belgium, only for the letters to stop being written in return. You knew what it often meant and you knew how terrifying it could be. 

The last letter you’d received had been over a week ago. 

_Dearest Y/N,_

_I know, I know dearest sounds too formal coming from me. But you are my dearest, other than my mother of course (she would never let me live it down if she wasn’t at least equal to you). I’ve missed you, I hope i’ll be able to come back home soon, even if for a week, just to see you._

_It’s not easy being here, nor is it easy being away from you. Sometimes the only thing that gives me strength is knowing that your still waiting for me. Somehow. You have the patience of a saint, you know that? I love that about you; I love a lot of things about you, enough to fill pages and pages of this letter._

_Its nice to know that Mrs Jones is still baking those little pastries despite the rationing on, nothing could probably get between that woman and her baking, not even the law._

_Forever yours,_

_Tommy xxx_

It had been such a normal letter and that’s perhaps what concerned you most about the slow response to your reply. He hadn’t mentioned the war much and he never did, you doubted he wanted to describe what was going on around him to you. He’d always been a very protective person and you doubt he wanted to risk upsetting you or causing you more worry. He had responded to your comment on Mrs Jones, that she was still making those sweet little pastries she always made despite sugar, butter, flour and well most things, being rationed. He had seemed so normal...or as normal as any letter could be and so you came to the worst conclusion.

That he was missing, that he was hurt, that maybe...maybe he was dead and they simply hadn’t found the time to tell you yet. It kept you up each night that past after your usual letter delivery time. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday morning you found yourself barely able to get out of bed you were so exhausted from the little sleep you had had since it had all begun. 

You weren’t sure what you’d do if he was dead. He was one of the most important people in your life. He was everything. Even away in a war zone he managed to make you smile and laugh through his letters. He asked you about your week, gave you advice, confirmed your annoyance or anger with people, he allowed you to vent, allowed you to be yourself even though he was in a much worse situation that yourself. He sent you joked and flirted with you heavily, reminded you that he loved you. Eve away at war he managed to show so much care for you. You hoped the same translated in your letters to him. 

If he was no more. If you had to live without him...it would be the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. 

The worry sank in your stomach, gnawed at your insides, ached in your chest, but you still forced yourself to get up, get dressed and do the few chores which needed doing. Washing your laundry with carbolic soap, squeezing the water out, before heading out the small garden out the rear of the house to hang it on the line. The day was dry, not especially warm, but dry. If it had reflected the feeling in your chest it would be pouring with rain, thunder and lightening flashing and growling over head. But as it was it reflected a much brighter disposition. 

You didn’t hear the front door open, nor did you hear foot steps at the back door as you hung one of Tommy’s shirts, the one that you slept in when you missed him the most. You didn’t know anyone was there until a pair of arms wrapped around your waist and a familiar voice whispered in your ear, “Surprise.”

You didn’t turn just clung to the hands at your navel and felt tears of relief start to collect in your eyes as you held back a sob. Tommy’s voice. Tommy was here.  You try to hold it in you really do, the little sob, the gasping sound that leaves your throat at the realisation that he was alive. That you had it all wrong, that he’d simply been travelling home surprise you. 

“Hey...hey...” His voice is soothing and soft as he turns you around to face him, his hands coming up to cup your face. He’s still in his uniform, still as messy and dirty as when he left France, his hair needs a trim and he has dark circles under his eyes, but he’s Tommy. He’s your Tommy and he’s genuinely in front of you. “What’s wrong?”

“I...you didn’t...I thought you’d died! You didn’t send a letter and its...I always get a letter on Monday...” You try to explain the sheer panic you’d felt all week without your usual Monday letter. The dread that you, like so many others, were going to be in grief. 

“I’m so sorry, love...” He pulls you tight against him and you don’t care that he smells, that he hasn’t washed in days, because he’s so real and it reminds you that this isn’t some hallucination or dream. “I wanted to surprise you with my leave...I didn’t-I didn’t think.”

Your hands ball into the back of his uniform jacket, scrunching the wool between your fingers as you allow yourself to calm down from the fear and the panic and relief. Taking deep breathes against his chest. 

“It was a lovely thought, Tommy...just don’t do that again, please...at least send a letter for the Monday.” You can’t explain what its like to have a reassuring routine broken. To receive a letter everyday for 3 years, only for one not to come. 

“I promise, I’ll never do that ever again. I promise.” You pull back to look up at him, taking in the familiar freckles across his face, the mole by his chin, the seriousness in his eyes. You know he means it. He’s always been protective of people he cares about and you know that it hurts him to realise that he scared you so much. 

“I’m glad to see you again...even...even if it was a rather big shock.” You try to pull away from the fact that you’d been scared for the last 4 days because he’s back. Yes, you were scared, but he’s back and only temporarily before his leave is over again. You want to enjoy it. 

“I’ve missed you.” He presses his forehead against his and you close your eyes, taking in the familiar gesture. “I’ve missed you too.” Before pressing forward to meet his lips with your own in a firm kiss. Its been so long since you’ve last kissed him.

It’s almost like coming home, even though you never left. 


End file.
